Jumping around the social mediasphere, it's not uncommon to feel the heat generated in praise of a favorite this or that over all the clearly inferior alternatives. Whilst human nature may never cool, I think Old Will had some insight worth considering the next time a flame threatens to flicker forth:

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips' red ;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.I have seen roses damask, red and white,But no such roses see I in her cheeks;And in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak, yet well I knowThat music hath a far more pleasing sound;I grant I never saw a goddess go;My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rareAs any she belied with false compare.